


Primary Colors

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: South Park
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world with so much uncertainty—an incomprehensible variety of cough syrups, suspiciously "helpful" men in white, unseen UFOs, and the impossibility of knowing whether your memories have been stolen and your over the counter medication compromised—Tweek heads for the only safety he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primary Colors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luciidcatnap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciidcatnap/gifts).



> _20 min. each (40 min. total) on[Write or Die](http://writeordie.com)_   
>  _double prompt: Tweek - cherry cough syrup / Clyde, Kevin - UFO_

Tweek grasped some of his hair, feeling the pull when he turned to scan back to the other side along the next shelf down. Why were there so many different cough syrups? And they were all for something slightly different. It didn't make sense! He just had a cough, and he wanted not to cough. Which was the syrup for that?

He let go of his hair in favor of covering his mouth as another cough worked its way out of his lungs. He knew you were supposed to cover your mouth so you didn't spread your germs to other people, but then didn't that mean he was covering his hand with germs? It didn't matter that they were his own germs—they were what was making him sick, weren't they? So why would he want to catch them with his bare, naked, exposed hand? Now those germs were on his hand, out here in the air with all the germs that had escaped other people's bodies, people who didn't cover their mouths like that kid he'd seen in the candy aisle or the old lady with the walker standing in line at the pharmacy—jesus, she had to have something awful, if she was getting a prescription instead of over the counter medicine like Tweek. And now those germs were flying through the air and some of them had probably spotted the germs Tweek had coughed up onto his own hand, and what if Tweek's germs were, like, super hot or something? They were making Tweek feel pretty hot, so they were probably hot to other germs, who were probably speeding up their floating through the air in order to zoom down to Tweek's germs. They were probably getting it on: jesus, Tweek's hand had probably become the Spring Break of the germ world.

He started to wipe his hand on his shirt, but that would probably just spread the germs around more. He had seen some antibacterial lotion in one of the aisles, but he couldn't remember which one; and also, he'd read on the internet that antibacterial stuff actually increases and _strengthens_ bacteria for the long term, by making resistant strains evolve. Also, what was on his hand were virus germs, not bacteria, and he didn't think they made antiviral lotion or wipes. So he was screwed no matter what.

Another cough scrabbled its way up to Tweek's mouth, and even though he knew he was contributing to the problem, he coughed out loud.

"Can I help you find something?"

Tweek jumped inside his skin, then turned to look at the man in the white coat. The stories always talked about men in black but Tweek thought that was a ruse, a red herring: it was the men in white you had to be wary of. "Ah! Oh, um—" He looked around for something, an excuse, and said the first thing that caught his eye: "Cough syrup?" Which was actually what he really was here for. Well, if someone was watching him, they'd probably been watching long enough to know that he suspected they were watching, so maybe they were expecting him to try to throw them off the trail, in which case telling the truth was the safest and cleverest thing he could do. Unless they were counting on him to think that.

"Sure thing," the man in white said. "And what kind of cough do you have?"

"This kind," Tweek said, demonstrating with the cough that conveniently—too conveniently?—came on him just then.

"Well, for that, you might want to try this one." The man in white plucked a box from the shelf and held it out so Tweek could read the label: Boiron Chestal Homeopathic Cough Syrup.

Remembering what homeopathic medicine had done for Kyle Broflovski back in 3rd grade, Tweek backed up. "N-no. Not that."

"Bad experience with homeopathic remedies?" The man in white chuckled. Tweek squinted up at him. Sometimes he said things out loud when he didn't mean to, but he was sure, absolutely positive, that he hadn't this time. So how did this guy know that? "We get that a lot."

Tweek snapped his mouth shut as soon as it opened. Why did the man in white say that? It was like he knew what Tweek was thinking, as if he had plucked the question from Tweek's brainwaves and answered it unasked. And, _we_? Why did he say _we_? Who was he working with? Tweek glanced over his shoulder, turned to glance over the other one. He didn't see anyone—but of course he wouldn't. Not unless they wanted him to.

"How about this one, then? Nice, traditional medicine with a name you can trust." The man in white smiled as he held out a bottle of Robitussin to Tweek.

If the man in white was trying to get him to take Robitussin—and for all Tweek knew, that had been the plan all along; they must have known he wouldn't take the homepathic one, so that had been just to throw him off and make him go for this instead—then he definitely couldn't take the Robitussin. He reached out blindly and when his fingers touched a bottle, he closed around it and held it out in front on him like a vial of holy water. "Ah! I—this. I found what I was looking for."

The man in white frowned a little, just a very little before he got his smile on. Which Tweek took as a good sign, because he had a feeling he wasn't supposed to have seen that frown, which meant he must have chosen wisely.

"An excellent choice," the man in white said, still smiling, but it was too late—Tweek knew it really _was_ an excellent choice.

He didn't look at the bottle as he walked to the register, but once he got there and put it on the counter, he didn't take his eyes off it. When the cashier tried to put it in a bag, Tweek politely but firmly declined; they might try to pull a fast one, a sleight of hand so he'd wind up with something different. And maybe not all Vicks Nyquil Cold & Flu Nighttime Relief Cherry medicine was safe; maybe it was just this particular bottle.

He clutched it to his chest, cradling it in both hands as he started home. Then, thinking better of it, because who knew what kind of time-freezing or teleporting technology the men in white might have, he stopped and, after wrestling with the child-proof safety cap for a while, got it off, measured out a recommended dosage, and downed it on the spot.

Then, just in case they got to him and he had to make whatever was in his body last, he took another dosage, and a third. It was kind of extremely nasty tasting and gooey and warm, and he felt like it would be greatly improved by being served chilled and preferably poured over ice so, even though it was a risk, he left the rest in the bottle, which he recapped as securely as possible under the circumstances.

The Blacks had a full bar, a party room dedicated to it, but their house was way far away. The Donovans didn't have a full bar but they did have an ice making machine in the small utility room off the kitchen, and their house was a lot closer, and also Clyde was more likely to have cough syrup cocktails with him than Token was, and Tweek really didn't like to drink alone, so that's where he headed.

He only stopped once along the way, when a coughing fit overcame him; after drinking more Nyquil, he continued on. When he got to Clyde's, he rang the doorbell and hardly had time to look around to see if he'd been followed before the door opened.

"Hey, Tweek. What's up, man?"

"Ah! Clyde—hi!" Tweek held up the bottle. "I was bringing this over for us, but..." he trailed off, looking sorrowfully at the thin layer of liquid coating the bottom, hardly enough for a single shot glass.

"That's okay, Tweek." Clyde smiled in a way that made it true. "Want me to make you a special Clyde Cocktail?"

"Yeah, man." Tweek sighed in relief; he knew coming here was the right choice. "That would be perfect."

Clyde held the door open wider and Tweek ducked under his arm as he entered the safe zone of the Donovan house. "Here." He held out the bottle to Clyde after Clyde shut the door and clicked the lock in place. "Do you want this?"

Clyde cupped the bottom of the bottle in his palm and Tweek let go. "Thanks, man. Do you want to go hang out in the living room? I'll just get us those drinks and be right there."

"Okay," Tweek said.

The TV was off but Clyde had some sweet tunes playing. Tweek sat down on the sofa—and immediately sprang up again when he realized he'd sat on someone.

"Ah! Jesus, Kevin, sorry man," Tweek said when he turned and saw who it was. "I didn't see you there." He took a seat at the other end of the sofa. Kevin hadn't said anything yet, and Tweek wondered if he was mad at Tweek for sitting on him. Tweek might be pretty mad at someone if they sat on him, too. He tried to think of something to make Kevin want to talk to him. "Oh, um—did you see the UFO tonight?" Tweek hadn't actually seen a UFO, but that didn't mean there hadn't been one; if anything there was a good chance that there _had_ been one, and it had been in stealth mode. Or maybe Tweek had seen it but his memory had been wiped, which he thought was possible and actually might explain how there was so little special Nyquil left in the bottle by the time he got to Clyde's.

Which, oh jesus, meant that what was in that bottle might not be the special, non-government-approved elixir. He had to warn Clyde before—

But it was too late: here Clyde was, bringing in the special cocktails. "Clyde, that Nyquil—"

"I thought it might be, uh, compromised?" Clyde said. "So I poured it down the drain."

Tweek sank back against the cushions with bone-deep relief. "Thanks, man."

Clyde nodded and, with a grin, handed Tweek one of the Clyde Cocktails: sweet, delicious water poured over crisp, clear ice cubes. Tweek took a long, long sip, downing half the contents in one go. Nobody did water on the rocks like Clyde.

Sitting down between Tweek and Kevin, Clyde raised his glass to his lips.

"Hey, Clyde," Tweek whispered furtively while Clyde was sipping. Clyde turned to him, then leaned in like Tweek hoped he would. "I think Kevin is mad at me."

"Stoley?" Clyde was whispering, too. "Why do you think that?"

"Um, well—he hasn't talked to me."

"Since when?"

"Since I—since I sat on him?"

"Since you—when did that happen?"

"While you were making the drinks," Tweek whispered sadly. He was truly sorry he'd sat on Kevin, but at the same time he kind of wished he could do it again, because Kevin had been so soft and yielding and at the same time supportive, just really comfortable.

Clyde sat back. Tweek cupped his cocktail in both hands, then cast a glance to Clyde's other side. Clyde followed his gaze to where Kevin was propped up against the sofa arm. Tweek started to wish even more that Kevin wasn't mad at him because even though they didn't talk much, he felt like they might have more in common than Tweek had realized and it would be interesting to talk to Kevin right now, about his wardrobe, for example, and whether he'd designed an outfit that blended so perfectly in pattern and texture with the fabric of the Donovans' sofa, or if it was a special camouflage material that could mimic those things.

Kevin and Clyde were still looking at each other, but Tweek couldn’t hear what they were saying, if they were talking. He leaned forward a little and saw that Clyde's mouth wasn't moving, though it was turned down a little. Tweek didn't like seeing Clyde's mouth like that. He didn't think Clyde was mad at him, but he knew it really was his fault for sitting on Kevin.

It seemed like they were sitting in silence, or at least wordlessly, since the music was still drifting around. Tweek turned sideways on the sofa and leaned over Clyde, bracing himself with a hand on Clyde's thigh as he tried to catch Kevin's eye; it was hard to tell if Kevin was looking at him, since he was wearing shades made out of the same amazing material as the rest of his get-up. "I’m really sorry, man," he told Kevin.

"Ohh~," Clyde said. "Oh, Tweek, no man, that's not—he's not mad at all." To Tweek's surprise, Clyde poked Kevin right in the stomach. "See? He's fine."

"Are you sure?" Tweek asked, sitting up straight and looking from one of them to the other.

"Yep. See, look—" Clyde shifted and actually leaned back to lie on Kevin. "He doesn't mind." Clyde wriggled around, making himself more comfortable on Kevin as he proved his point. "Want to try?"

"Um." Tweek knocked back the rest of his water on the rocks for courage. "Could I try on you, man?" He said it in one breath, then sucked in some air and held it.

"Dude, of course." Clyde stretched out, nudging Tweek gently off the sofa so he could sprawl himself the full length. He patted his belly, pale skin showing where his shirt had ridden up. "C'mere."

Tweek abandoned his empty glass to the floor and went over, putting one knee up on the sofa between Clyde's legs, sighing with relief when Clyde took over and pulled him down, arranging him like the blanket to Clyde's pillow. Tweek nestled against him as Clyde's arms settled into place around him, one hand at the small of his back, the other in his hair. "Is Kevin okay?"

"Oh, right—hey Stoley, man, you okay like this?"

Tweek didn't hear the reply, but when Clyde told him Kevin was cool, Tweek believed him. "You have to be careful of the men in black, man," he said, hoping to make Kevin feel included in the conversation.

"Yep," Clyde confirmed.

"And the men in white," Tweek said.

"I only wear primary colors, dude," Clyde said.

Tweek sighed, settling more against Clyde. "I know you do, man," he murmured, feeling like he could finally sleep. "I know you do."


End file.
